Ugly
by EnglishVoice
Summary: AU Set in Upper Canada late 18th Century. Bella is a young woman caught between two men and two worlds.
1. Prologue

AN: So, I've tried to work on my other stories and seem to be having a lot of trouble with them. I'll have to move on and come back to them or I just might stop writing indefinitely at that pace. This is an AU story with real people at this point. I don't think I'll make this one supernatural. But I may change my mind later. We'll see how this plays out. The premise for this story was listening to the Kooks song Naive. I kept thinking about Edwards age and this idea began to build in my head. So I'm trying it out.

I'll point out, that if I was SM, I wouldn't be writing for free on Fan Fiction. So she owns these characters and I own my penchant for being the tag along younger sibling.

Prologue

How could someone so beautiful do something so ugly? Was she really that naive or was she taking me for a ride? How could someone who seemed so sweet and beautiful, be so hurtful? How could so much devastation follow her everywhere she went? She got to him. Those big brown eyes staring up at him. He could feel his heart jump and his stomach flutter. And yet the pain. He bitterly thought how he was little more than her play thing. She would call for him and he would come running, at her beck and call. Is she on his side or husband's side? He don't want to answer these questions.

She had wanted him to be an anchor. But he was like the wind without his people. How could someone so beautiful do something so ugly? So naive but so self-serving. Edward had hurt her but she was obediently stay at his side as though it were nothing. And he was no different to her. He would let her hurt him and still doggedly follow at her heel. He would still fight to have her. He would take her and all would be forgiven. He knew what she was doing was ugly. Was she really that naive?

She loved him despite everything. But was she in love with him?

A new stream lay before him. He could begin his own future. He could begin a future where he pined for her and followed her to the ends of the earth. He remembered the shell that was Bella when she came here. He was becoming that shell himself. Would his stream flow into a river to a great water or trickle down inside the land? She probably wouldn't come back. But then it had been improbable that Edward would forgive her and we all know how that turned out.

His future, his stream didn't have to include her. It was hard to picture that future. It was so easy to picture the future with her. It was so easy with her. A future without her seemed painful and endless. Could he give her a new heart? No. A wiigwaasabak remembered every mark, every fold, every tear and every hole. He couldn't give her a new heart for that blank future. Could a heart be mended? Could he mend his heart and move on? It seemed like an impossible feat to mend his own. He had been so confident, so sure. Where was that confidence now?

He had asked her to have faith in him. Faith that he could make her happy. But he couldn't make himself happy. He was letting her do the ugliest things to him. He was letting her break him. He felt anger for the first time, towards her. She had been so ready to forgive Edward. To be his doormat. Was he so like her that he would be her doormat? His future wasn't a free stream anymore. He was a stream and not made of stone like Edward. He could change and grow. She would leave her mark on his heart. But he would make his own future and he would find happiness.

So naive, so beautiful and yet: so ugly.


	2. Ugly Chapter 1

AN: So, I'm realizing that telling this story that it starts rather slowly. Hopefully that isn't too off putting. This is set in Toronto 1797. I did a little research on Montreal, Quebec City and Toronto. I haven't read any books set in this area this far back, so the likelihood of my facts being off are gaping wide. But I just wanted to get this out. I'm pretty sure the Mississauga Indians were around this area at this point in history and pictures show them wearing feathers. Hope you enjoy it. And as usual, I'm not SM and she owns Twilight and the characters therein.

Chapter 1

The plan had been to sail to York. But when had things ever gone to plan? So while our belongings had been shipped to York, we were stranded in Montreal on a different ship under quarantine following a smallpox outbreak on board. My mother was in the Atlantic. My father was in recovery.

Montreal rose up out of the river on a high hill. A baroque chapel stood in the centre of the small fur trading town. A citadel stood elevated over the town while the bell tower rose above the fortress's battle ready wide stance. The town was cut out of the wilderness that threatened to swallow it whole at any moment. I shivered at the thought of what this meant for York which I was told had less than 400 souls. The St Lawrence was encroached upon by the port filled with vessels of varying sizes.

Our own ship harbored further away from the other ships carried the yellow quarantine flag. At night, lantern light blazed high on our main mast to warn others of our demise flanked by masts either side. I noted the lack of our square rigging that had been up day after day on our crossing. My father had told me the ship was a Barque. I glared up at the yellow flag that seemed to keep guard over our month long imprisonment. After a miserable month long transatlantic voyage, the entire ship was demoralized by the additional month added to our sentence. Hunger, illness and disease had assaulted the ship. As one of the 5 passengers on board, I was the only one who hadn't come down with smallpox. My father was much improved but weakened resting below decks. Many of the sailors were below decks, faces scarred and bodies weakened. But at least they were alive. I knew it was rather vain, but I was grateful that I had escaped scars covering my skin.

Our Captain hid from his crew as he waited for his consequences. He should have flown his yellow flag when symptoms of smallpox had reared its ugly head. But of course, he hadn't. He had slipped through Quebec City quietly making his way to Toronto hoping to pass by undetected. But we were caught short of Montreal when an official caught sight of a burial downriver.

A small cutter broke from the port and headed towards us. With little else to do, I watched the small vessel make it's way through the dark waters. A Catholic priest and a small chunk of his congregation moored against the ship and sent food baskets up the side of the ship. My stomach felt hollow and while I appreciated the gesture, I knew it wasn't enough for the ship. One more day, I reminded myself. One more day and we would be free.

I felt my hooded cloak flutter in the cool breeze on the sunny spring day. Leaving Brighton's port sporting Hoggies and their decks filled hatches, had been warm enough to put my cloak away and bring out my parasol. Alas, I was met with the wondering eyes of our crew giving sense that my shawl was no match for their imaginations. Despite the spring heat, it was preferable to feel their eyes wandering my body as though penetrating the fabric of my dress.

My mother had dropped hints to my father that Canada was rugged and rather rough outpost. But my father couldn't refuse the opportunity. The lieutenant-governor Peter Russell had commissioned him for assisting with implementing changes to the land granting system that would curtail speculation. For someone who was usually so level headed, I couldn't understand why ever would he make such a move. But like my mother, I had obediently followed behind after my mother had tried rashly to find me a suitor. Mr Bartholomew was looking enticingly adequate from this side of the Atlantic.

Thoughts of my mother gripped me tightly in the chest and focused on the journey ahead. Which produced feelings almost as turbulent as my grief. Realizing my error, I returned to watching the harbour and listening to rush of wind and creaking of the ship and the clink of metal as the dastardly yellow flag whipped against mast in the wind. For a moment, I wanted to climb the mast and rip the flag down and shred it to pieces and be done with the ship. But the ship would take us to our final point of origin. A small garrison and backwoods town. Dread nestled in my belly like a dog at the foot of a fireplace keeping warm.

I returned below deck after my respite from the smell of death in the air, I regarded my father resting in his bed. Charles Swan was a man of few words, humble, hardworking and bestowed with a wit he carefully guarded and shared with very few. I couldn't guess what had prompted this misadventure that had cost him his wife and very nearly his life. He had seemed comfortable in his place in at an administrative level in parliament. I suspected that I would never know what had possessed him to drag us out here. We were better supplied than much of crew but living at a standard of squalor that was hardly fitting to our station. Although, I had been imposed upon with the information that I would be living in squalor in our new home. The ship was wretched, our future was wretched and I would always harbour a certain resentment towards Charlie for doing this to our small family.

* * *

><p>Packing our trunks, I lamented the loss of my maid to help me. I wasn't able to pack a trunk as well as she did and was struggling with closing the lid tightly enough to latch the lock closed. That is until the bell clanged above decks and I heard the ship move into action and then all thoughts of the trunk were forgotten. As expected, we were nearing York. My face flushed as I felt panic and uncertainty creep up on me. My father was still in a weakened state and I would need to bring him and our belongings into the town and learn where to go. He could tell me who to go to and what to do, I just didn't feel spirited enough to take charge. I pined for my pallor and cross-stitching with an afternoon tea with lace place setting and the fireplace snapping cheerily in it's place.<p>

Taking a moment to calm myself, I willed myself to take care of my father and myself. We needed lodging most immediately. Glancing down at myself I detected I necessitated a bath. I dared not look at a mirror during the voyage as I knew I was in a state following bouts of nausea and other ailments. After several deep breaths my heart stilled and I made my way above decks to see my new and hopefully temporary home.

It was worse than I had imagined. Montreal and had Quebec city look the epitome of civilization, but looking at York, I was met with such a sight that I felt quite faint. As we sailed around to the mouth of the habour my hand went up to cover my mouth. I observed the collection of white washed log cabins doing their up most best to mimic houses faced muddy tracks running the length of the bank. They lacked a pier or port and a muddy grass bank divided the settlement from the water. A brown heap to the west could be interpreted to be a garrison I supposed with it's familiar flag on a pole. The garrison had a wooden pier that I wistfully hoped wasn't the only landing point in the area. Because then I would truly be in the middle of nowhere. It took until now for me to observe the people. I saw men but didn't see any women and children. I waited patiently searching the settlement until I caught sight of a woman tending her garden.

It was almost comical seeing the settlement stop to observe the large sailing ship try to dock. Anchor was dropped at the grassy shore as we were far too large to moor at the pier. I thought unwillingly of loading into the dinghy and being rowed to shore rolling on the small tides. My clumsy trait might not survive climbing down the rope ladder to the dinghy much less stay in the small boat. I gripped the handrail nervously and watched the sailors busy at work.

Standing at the treeline, Red Braves with feather's in their hair watched out ship in awe. I watched them made more nervous realizing that very little stood between me and the savages as I would sleep tonight.

They brought our trunks (and closed) our trunks on deck and assisted my father to day light.

"That's righ' sir, just hold onto us." The man reassured my father as he leveraged my fathers' weight assisting him to the boat below us. My father looked thin and gray. I always thought of him as so strong and confident it was disturbing to look at him in the light of day. He looked... broken. It had hurt to lose my mother, but he seemed more distraught than sick as I looked on. Why hadn't I realized before that he was depressed more than weak? Because I was more concerned with my own welfare. I felt sickening guilt in the pit of my stomach. How shameful! I wanted to hide myself from my father and my own failings. I'd failed him. I'd left him to rest all of this time, when he had probably needed me at his side. I should have done so much more for him.

These thoughts continued to distract me as I gripped the rope lowering myself into the boat. I should have known better than to think about anything but climbing while climbing a rope ladder because I stepped my slipper on the rope at the toe. Unfortunately, my toes are not strong enough to hold my weight and my foot slid off the rope and immediately my full weight ripped down on my left hand alone. I tried to hold on but wasn't strong enough to support my full weight and dropped almost instantly to the water catching my arm on the boat coming down. I didn't even have time to let out more than a squeak.

The shockingly cold water closed over my head and my skirts billowed around my waist lifting above my shoulders. My slippers had come off and I felt the muddy lake bottom on my against the bottom of feet. It seemed as thought the weight of the lake pushed me down as terror and panic gripped me. I saw two men jump in and swimming towards me. My lungs reminded me that I hadn't taken a breath before I went under and were quickly burning. Wanting to reach the surface, I kicked hard against the slippery bottom and felt momentum spurning me up even as my skirts dragged me down. I had made it halfway back up to the surface when the two men caught me by the arms and pulled me up to the surface. I felt the force of their strong swimming almost like a suction against the water. I didn't feel the burning sensation in my lungs anymore and panicked when I realized I had taken a breath of water. It had felt entirely natural. Just then my face broken the glittering surface and I sucked in a breath of air before sputtering up the water I had just breathed into my lungs. The water didn't feel so natural with air competing for space.

I was marginally aware of the crowd drawn to the spectacle I had made of myself. The coughing fit took up most of my energy as I spluttered and gasped for air. Hands gripped me and pulled me into the boat and I felt myself being rocked by the motion of the water until we were docked. I was carried away overwhelmed by too much attention and my own embarrassment. I was supposed to be taking care of my sick father not being a victim of my own demise. Wrapped in a blanket carried along the muddy road I saw the branches of trees hanging over the road and banks. Sunlight caused me to squint and look ahead as the stranger carried me.

Just out at the tree line, a strong young savage watched me almost anxiously and yet with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. I blushed. Who was he to be amused by me? I thought it was impetuous of him. But then remembered that he likely wouldn't know or recognize his station.

It wasn't until then that the harried voices began to take the forefront of my mind. I heard the soothing voice of the man who carried me. As though I needed soothing. I was just so embarrassed. I looked up at the man carrying me into one of the structures I had nearly mocked from the ship and decided that I would much rather be here than in the ship. He glanced down with me and I saw amazing green eyes set in a weathered old face with heavily graying auburn hair. His steps slowed as he looked down on me before resolution came to his eyes and he continued his steady pace up the stairs to a room.

Once laid out on the bed he bowed curtly to me and acknowledged the two young women taking his place. I felt his eyes tracing me before he left the room. Meanwhile the two women set to undressing me. One drawing curtains while the other pulling back the blanket I was wrapped in and began stripping the clothes from my body. The coughs had finally subsided and I was now taking in my surroundings.

"It's lovely to have another young lady with us! I'm Jane Bunting," Introduced the sweet blonde with a childlike face who looked far too young for her obviously pregnant state as she stepped away from the curtains. She couldn't be more than sixteen years old. Younger than my 17 years. "You will be living just across the road from me!" She beamed. I stopped myself from commenting that the place was so small that everything appeared to be just across the road from each other. Rough calloused hands gripped me as the older woman yanked my bodice from me.

"That's my mother, Harriet Powell. Doesn't say much, do you mother?" Mrs Bunting trilled enthusiastically joining her mother taking my clothes from my body. Mrs Powell was gruff and appeared to be uninterested in the conversation beyond a brief nod. Her dark blonde hair was tucked into a bonnet more successfully than Jane, whose hair had escaped in gentle whisps around her face.

"My name is Isabella Swan. How do you do?" I proffered to Mrs Bunting, my voice saw from lack of use in the past months and the mishap leaving the ship.

"That's hardly a strong Christian name." Mrs Powell grunted. Mrs Bunting gave pause for thought in an uncomfortable silence before speaking.

"Now come mother, I'm sure it's the only name she has."

Mrs Powell looked severely at her daughter but didn't say anymore.

They made me a hot bath and brought me a change of clothes from my trunk. I settled into easy conversation with Mrs Bunting at the fireplace and pondered where their husbands were quietly to myself. It was easy making conversation with Mrs Bunting as she had so much to say. She filled all of the awkward silences that Mrs Powell created by her very presence. But somehow, I liked her. She seemed kind enough. She just wasn't a conversationalist and had strong opinions. She obviously lacked even the slightest refinement that even Mrs Bunting had. But I appreciated her all the same.

Long shadows grew from the fire and I was informed that I was staying the night as they didn't wish to allow me outside after my "brush with death." I wasn't ready to face more new people and so I willingly accepted the arrangement. Laying in bed looking up at the rafters of the second floor of the home beside Mrs Bunting, I wondered where my father had brought us. I was too tired to push any matters and settled into sleep without the sound of a creaking ship for the first time in too many months.


	3. Ugly Chapter 2

AN: So after much thought, I've decided that this isn't an all human story. It will affect the plot a good deal, but the shouldn't change the principals too much. I've checked exploration out west at this point and the Olympic Penninsular had been mapped out by the Spanish already. I should probably be spending more time on the speech patterns, so I apologize for that. Oh and I'm really sorry about the lack of editing. Little people have been climbing all over me and I just want to put this out at this point. I hope you like it.

Chapter 3

Within a few days, my father was showing signs of a half recovery. The brittle malady that had surrounded him, was falling away with the bright sun and fresh air that came with leaving the ship. But his body and spirit were weathered. He looked much more than his 52 years. I understood that his commission had reached a stumbling block but that he had been offered a similar position that would require more travel. By travel, they meant trekking through wilderness by foot. Where would I go in that case?

He was taking walks with me and we had made small ventures around the small town and even up Yonge St towards the wild hinterlands beyond the lake. The lake was hardly a lake at all. But rather a massive water that more closely resembled a small sea. Much of this wild land was bigger, wider and broader. I could scarcely fathom what waited in the woods behind us.

There were more women in town than I had realized, although Mrs Bunting had cheerfully informed me that there were scattered farms that few ventured to. Mr Bunting was clearing their land north on Yonge St and starting their farm. She was waiting safely with her widowed mother in York.

I doubted her view on York being a place of safety. With recent fear of war breaking out with the Americans again and fear of attack from the Mississauga Indians, York wasn't a charming realm of safety. But I supposed it all came down to perspective. I suppose York with it's garrison was safer than the backwoods with only one man against American forces or an Indian war party. Or bears. I shuddered to think.

The town was situated on the harbour of a sandy peninsular with the garrison guarding the entrance to the harbour to the west. Small streams ran into the great lake at the foot of town with Yonge Street acting as the spine the ribs that were the concession lines dividing the lots. I'd heard the whispering that the garrison was unlikely to be sufficient to stop an American force marching in. Nor did it protect fully against the threat of Indian attack as we were unfortified, they walked amongst us selling furs for goods as they pleased. Small streams

On yet another sunny day, I passed the blacksmith's with the smell of smoke and leather harnesses when I saw my father talking to the man who had carried me to Mrs Powell's home the day I had arrived. The man with the green eyes was talking side by side with my father while my father frowned looking at the ground seriously studying where he was walking. I felt a knot in my stomach as they both looked at me at the same time as though contemplating my future. I ducked my head down, lifted my skirts a little higher and walked at a brisk pace back to our lodging. I broke into a run when I crossed over the threshold, passing Mrs Daniels with nary a wave and up the stairs into my room collapsing on my bed.

I had my suspicions. I had seen the way he looked at me. I had gone so far as to learn his name. Edward Mason. Old enough to be my father and not much younger. He had a general store he had started in the last two years. Somehow, I just knew where this was going. My father was a sick man being sent to go out trekking in the wilderness leaving me in a small outpost town. Mr Mason would have been an attractive man 10 or 20 years ago, but now he seemed far too old for me. And I had hoped that I would love or in the very least attracted to my future husband. The walls pressed in on me. He was really going to do it. My father was going to marry me off to an old man. He might not even live long enough to see our children to adulthood. I felt trapped. I thought of young Jane Bunting very pregnant. I thought about the other eligible bachelors living here. Soldiers and young men looking to start farms and fur traders. Out of them all, Edward was the most suitable. I knew there were marriages between more drastic age differences. I would estimate he was between 48 and 60. It was hard to tell, but even so that made him at least 20 years older than me.

I heard the front door open and eavesdropped on the conversation on the front door stoop.

"Edward, you have my blessing. I believe that this should settle the matter of her future concerns rather nicely." My heard my father's deep voice rumble quietly though the wooden floor boards.

I stopped listening at that point as I was having a fit on my bed. My bodice was fighting my heavy breathing, my body trembled as sobs built inside my chest. I heard them heading towards the front stairs. I couldn't face this just now. Not with my presentation as it was. I shot out of my room in the most undignified manner and raced to the small steep stairs into the kitchen and ran for the woods past spectators. I ran into blindly into the woods with my chest heaving from my sobs. I knew I was being melodramatic. But my future had been decided without me. I knew it wasn't my decision to make, but it seemed unfair when I would have had a choice if we had only stayed put in London. There had been some measure of choice back home. And he took it from me!

My run slowed as the pitch began to rise up steeply. I found a stone that wasn't really large enough to sit on, perching on it to take a breath. Lacking self-awareness at this moment I slumped down into the mud. I shouldn't have been so rash and dramatic. I was being so silly. I knew better than this. It was entirely ridiculous and unbecoming to act this manner.

The sound of the birds around helped me to slow and calm. I breathed in the woods and took stock of my surroundings. The sound of wood being chopped in the distance by a settler. The tree's sheltered my skin from the sun while small rays of light sprinkled as they swayed in the wind. I could say I had run much too far as the town was too far away to be seen or heard. A shock of blue caught my eye. A small bird landed 5 feet from me and hopped about nervously on the forest floor. He was white and striking blue with feathers sticking up on his head like the feathers the Indians wore. He seemed so cheerful and sprite looking at me cautiously but also curious as to why I looked so silly crying on the forest floor. He saw the lovely day. The productive land. Early summer.

Wiping at my eyes with the back of my hands, I sat up and laughed at my small accomplishment. I ran all thought this and didn't fall even once. I could seem to walk across a flat marble floor without tripping but I ran across the wilderness in distress and was sure footed. Getting up the trek back to town began. The midday sun was warmer than I remembered and heading down hill towards the water I realized that the land dipped and I was heading uphill again. Or maybe I had been turned around. And then I really did turn around feeling my stomach sink. Panicking wouldn't help matters. The best thing to do was consider my surroundings and see if I couldn't solve the matter on my own. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

"You're lost." A husky voice spoke much too closely and my eyes flung open to see the stranger presented to me only feet away. He must have crept upon me silently. A gasp slipped from my lips as I realized belonged to the young Indian who had been standing watching when I was pulled out of the water when I arrived. I was alone in the woods with a savage and I had no one to blame but myself. My heart thundered in my chest, my fear reigning over me as I fought my mind to not imagine what he might to me.

His face betrayed his amusement at me as he tried to show sincere concern. Embarrassment rose and flushed my cheeks as I realized that the only danger I was in was of making a fool of myself. He offered his right hand to me as though he wished to shake my hand. I stared at the impropriety. A young lady didn't shake hands. He looked between me and his hand before he chuckled and let it drop to his side with a beautiful white smile against his red hued skin. Looking at the man close up I could see that his skin wasn't quite brown but wasn't red. Fascinating. I had seen east Indians and Africans and Chinese, but none of their skin colours quite matched his.

"My name is Jacob Black." He introduced himself politely. I was taken aback by his English name for a moment and unfortunately I was still reacting to his husky voice that seemed waken something in my belly. For a pause the yawned open for far to long I struggled to find the words that I was looking for.

"Miss Swan." I managed. A small smile graced his lips and I wanted to ask him why he smiled but was out of my element and unsure of what the appropriate behaviour would be best in this situation. I couldn't place myself amongst the most eloquent of speakers and this event only served to punctuate my limitation. We stared it each other in silence. He was waiting and I was... I was socially flailing in front of a man wearing only a loin cloth! Glancing down at his loin cloth was a mistake because then I realized just how incredibly awkward this situation was. Seeing my distress he seemed to be torn between amusement and sympathy. And still, neither of us spoke. The longer the silence spread out the more difficult it became to settle on something to say.

Finally he brought an end to the grueling humiliation and spoke having given up waiting for me to speak. "May I escort you back to town Miss Swan?"

Unsure of the right answer, I decided I wanted to get back to York more than I wanted to have the right answer. So I simply nodded my head and took his offered elbow. It was when I held his arm that I became impossibly aware of how strong he was. I thought myself lucky that he wasn't the like the Indians I had been warned murdered, raped and pillaged. In fact, he seemed rather pleasant.

The heat was building and I had made the mistake of wearing a warm dress that had been for the crossing. In the summer heat nearing midday, I was far too hot. Determined not to faint in the woods with a strange savage at my side, I focused on placing one foot ahead of the other. I occasionally tripped on exposed roots, rocks and even thin air. Mr Black seemed rather amused by nervous disposition and clumsy balance. By contrast, I hadn't heard him so much as snap a twig in his moccasins. My silk slippers had been replaced by ugly if not more practical boots. I suspected while painful, my slippers would have been a tad more subtle in the woods.

"I can see how you fell off your boat." He commented with his deep husky voice that was doing things to me that it shouldn't have been.

"It's a ship." Burst from my own lips. I wished I could be somewhat more verbose with him.

"Is it now?" He glanced down at me.

"A boat can go in a ship but a ship won't fit in a boat." I muttered. That was how my governess had once explained it to me. Once upon a time, my father had been able to afford many servants. But in recent years, our fortunes had seen hardship. We didn't employ more than a single cook and a maid at home. At least we had before my father decided to move here.

"I'll keep that in mind." He commented.

Silence invaded the short reprieve and I searched my thoughts for something more to say. The same blue bird crossed our path and at once I had something to ask.

"What is that blue and white bird called over there?" I pointed to the bird perched on a branch. The only word I could find to describe the creature was exotic.

"A blue jay. It's on my totem." He grinned openly. His flash of white teeth and relaxed manner set me further at unease for reasons I couldn't explain. There was a tone of mysticism about him even as I reminded myself that he was a man just like any other. I had been told that the Indians and trackers moved differently, but his movements were ever so graceful for a man of his stature. Or any size for that matter. He reminded me of a cat stalking his prey. I stiffened at the thought. Was I the prey? Mr Black noticed my change of posture and threw me a questioning glance. Of course, this triggered yet another blush. How foolish was I? He nonchalantly returned his attention to his path subtly assisting me when I tripped. Always anticipating my mistakes before I could entirely stumble.

"What was the name of the tribe here? Missaugans? Senoca?" I attempted to make conversation hoping that I had pronounced the names correctly. He was silent for a moment and I snuck a glance up to see a false smile on his face. "My apologies, clearly I'm incorrect."

He nodded amiably. "It's the Mississaugans' that live nearby." He corrected.

I breathed the name under my breath making my second attempt to pronounce the name correctly. "Mississaissiggins." It shouldn't have been loud enough for him to hear but all the same Mr Black broke out laughing. Seeing my embarrassment he pulled his face into an insincere remorseful expression.

"Missa-sargans." He emphasized more slowly for me.

"Mississaugans." I attempted again and he rewarded me with a bright smile. We walked quietly as the oppressive heat built causing my skin to prickle and burn. It was becoming more difficult for me to hide my dizziness but I had no intention to expose my weakness to this stranger. "How far away is your home from here?" I inquired.

"I'd say about a two months walk. But at your pace? Closer to six months." He teased me.

My jaw dropped at the idea of walking that far before it occurred to me that he wasn't from here anymore than I was. Closing my mouth I inquired further. "Who are your people?"

"I'm Quileute. We live by a great water out west. I have tracked my prey far from our lands." He added sadly as though he were speaking half truths. He assumed that if he had wanted to share the details, he would have done so. It seemed more polite to let that pass.

A glimpse of white broke in the distance through the tree trunks. I was almost disappointed to realize that we were reaching York. I wished I had more time to talk to him. To learn why he would track prey the distance of two months walk from his home. Why was he dressed like the local Indians? And why did he make my belly coil tightly? I was jolted by the last question but chose to pretended that I hadn't thought of it.

"If you're from so far away, why do you speak English so clearly?" I blurted out thoughtlessly.

He cocked his eyebrow at me. "I learned French and English during travels years ago. I have been working as an interpreter and guide." He added with a smirk. "You are the first person I have guided so close to their own home." It ground on me that he would first know me as the woman who fell from her ship and then lost in the woods. He had seen me trip through the woods that he seemed so at ease in. He had seen me mumble, speak out of turn and behaving foolishly. In this land, strong and capable was most valued. I appeared to be anything but strong and capable here. I would have to work to fit in here. For some reason, I wanted this strange brave to view me as a productive member of this new society.

As we left the canopy of the woods the sun attacked my senses so hard I felt bile rise up my throat. I stubbornly fought it back and turned to thank Mr Black only to find that he had disappeared from my presence. There was no sign of him within the immediate vicinity.

"I found her!" My heard spun to see who had yelled when I saw Albert Campbell running towards me. For a moment my vision failed me and all I could see was black and my legs wanted to crumble under me. I dug my nails hard into the sweaty palms of my hand so hard I knew I was bleeding. My sight returned to me with the stab of pain and stubbornness effectively kept me conscious. An embarrassing fuss was made of me as people gathered. My father and Mr Mason appeared within the group. Looking at my father after seeing Mr Black, it struck me how he was still pale and sickly. Words were exchanged before Mr Mason without asking my permission swept me off my feet and carried me to our lodging. I was too exhausted and thirsty from the heat to care that he was carrying me. Soon enough his steps lulled me into unconsciousness.


End file.
